


Bloodlust

by Bitchii_usa



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, The Prince and the Heiress community, Vegebul, smutfest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 10:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12385896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitchii_usa/pseuds/Bitchii_usa
Summary: A vampire Vegebul AU written for the October 2017 Smutfest, hosted by the Prince and the Heiress community.





	1. Chapter 1

**Bloodlust**

_You say your life belongs to me._

_Prove it._

oooOooo

Bulma's fingers shake in tiny tremors as she raises her arms, her tiny hands dipping just below the silver glow of the full moon. She takes a slow breath and shuts her eyes, trying to tell herself to calm down. But the beating of her heart doesn't listent to her pleas and threatens to leap out her chest.

"Hurry up," an impatient growl slithers from over her shoulder, and she narrows her eye back in its direction quickly. She knows that despite the quiet that follows her glare, he is serious about her speed. Her stomach sinks as she thinks about the repercussions if she doesn't do this right.

She turns back to her hands, the soft glow of the moon illuminating her body that is concealed by a thick cloak. She takes a deeper breath this time and focuses, setting her eyes on a figure walking down a winding path headed towards their town.  _Now or never_ , she tells herself, although whether she does it or not will not leave her feeling good.

"If you take any longer then I'll do it myself. And perhaps use you as practice before hand." The voice has lost any sense of patience and Bulma swallows as she knows she has to do it now. So with a slight whimper she aims, curls her finger over the metal trigger and fires.

Her eyes widen as the figure stops mid stride before crumpling down into a puddle, the hat it was wearing flying off and hitting a tree. Bulma is frozen, unable to comprehend what she's done. She wants to vomit, and tries to swallow down a batch of vile that has accumulated in her throat. Unable to hold back any longer, she snaps out her trance and recoil backwards to ret her over the side of the rooftop, not caring where the contents of her stomach fall.

"Tch," the voice is dripping with disgust as the body moves closer to Bulma, "Pathetic. You are a much weaker woman than I would have given you credit for."

Bulma wants to tell him to fuck off, but her mouth is too busy relieving her ill turned stomach. She's just finished wiping the corners of her mouth before she's picked up by large hands and the rooftop she was on becomes a tiny insect in the distance. She'll still never get used to the idea of flying.

She looks up at her capturer and frowns. His face is stoic and hard, and he doesn't even look at her as he says:, "What is your problem?"

Bulma scoffs immediately. He has to ask? She can't stop the venom that escapes her lips. "You've put blood on my hands. This wasn't a part of the deal."

His eyes slide to her with a cruel casual stare. "You are alive. That is much more than any deal can give."

She folds her arms across her chest, right above where his thick arm is holding her waist, and pouts. There isn't much more she can say to that, so she instead chews on her vicious words as they journey onwards.

oooOooo

The candlelight in the main chambers of the castle do little to show the room in the darkness, but that's the way he likes it. She's unsure of its because he doesn't want to see her, or if he's truly accustomed to darkness, but for tonight, she's grateful. That way he doesn't have to see the tears that race down her cheeks.

Even through the darkness, he's graceful. He intricately moves to a table and pours liquid into a glass, the rattling providing the only sound in the room. Seconds later he's in front of her, pushing it into her hands. "Drink," he says impatiently, and with her reluctance, he adds with irritation, "It's wine."

She sighs and brings it to her lips, wanting to wash away the bitter taste of her vomit. The sweet wine burns her tongue but she drinks the entire cup anyways, feeling dizzy once she's finished. He's gone back to the open window and is staring out of it, just like he does every night.

Feeling a bit courageous, Bulma gathers the longer parts of her dress and glides nearer to him, her tongue swelling with questions. "Why?"

His hear turns slightly, and she can see his hollowed cheeks even more under the moonlight. She's noticed his face has been thinning lately, but she won't feel sorry for a monster. He doesn't reply, but she knows he has asked what she means. "What did that poor man do? Why did you have me take his life?"

He gives off something that sounds like a laugh and shakes his head. "You don't recognize a gift in the face, do you? That man was named Gero, a physician from a nearby village. From my observations, that man was on his way to visit your father. I don't suppose I need to say what for."

Bulma's heart clenched. Her father had spoken of Gero for years, and none of it was in good spirits. He'd talked of the man's threats towards him, primarily because her father was actually a  _good_ physician, and not a rumored mad scientist amongst the townspeople. Bulma worried that the man would cause her family harm, but she never expected it to come to fruition. So why had he  _saved_  them? The devil in the night himself?

"It was not for you, girl," he cuts through her thoughts, "It was merely by circumstance. I wanted to see how loyal you would be to me. Luck is just in your favor."

She wanted to slap him. Slap that grin from his lips, the blood from his eyes, the auburn from his raven hair. She didn't know whether to be relieved or pissed, but she knew she didn't appreciate being toyed with. Especially not by him.

"You bastard," she grits through her teeth, "I've already given up my home, my family, my  _life_! I am practically your slave, and you wish to insult what humanity I have left? You've hardly kept your end of the bargain!"

She can hear the growl working in his chest, and he turns to face her, the glow of the candle emphasizing his gaunt face. She steps backwards instinctively, unable to stare death so close in the face.

"You will watch your tongue, girl," the shine of his sharpened teeth torment her, and she regrets her words immediately, "I allow you to remain alive here in my home. You should be on your knees thanking me and instead you curse me with your tongue. Do not tempt a starving man. The sweetness of your blood is screaming to me with your fear."

A starving man? Bulma takes a better look at his face as his threat falls to her feet. That explains it, she thinks, of why he looks so lean compared to the first night she'd laid eyes on him. He hadn't eaten  _anything_  because of his vow to her.

"That's dangerous, " she says softly, in almost a whisper. Now she can't control the pity that seeps through her skin for him. "You'll kill yourself."

He looks flustered as if he's said too much and turns away from her. "I manage. It is  _you_  who requested I did not harm anyone else."

A small smile curved around her lips, but was instantly replaced with a frown. He was starving himself for  _her_? Surely… no…. He couldn't have been. Not  _him_. Not the nightmare that had tormented her town for years. Not the shadow that lurked after hours, that made the townspeople not step out when the moon came to play. Nothing about him seemed merciful, not even his treaty with her. He had barely looked her in the face when he took scooped her up from her home a few months ago, when he barely muttered that she belonged to him now. She was under the rouse that meant as his wife, in whatever way someone like him could marry, but all she'd been was a neglected slave. Cleaning in the daytime when he slept, staying away at night while he roamed. And tonight he had made her  _kill_  for him. And sure it may have saved her father's life, but couldn't he have told her that first?

But here he stood, his face sharply turned to the side, proclaiming that he had held up his word and not fed on her people, if she would spend her days with him. She'd offered herself as a plea and he'd accepted, but she never imagined that he would keep his promise so easily. She'd been prepared to fight.

"My Lord," she steps closer to him, her arm outstretched, "You need some sort of food. Perhaps the body of the man still has fresh-"

"No." His tone leaves no room for negotiation. "It is against my word."

She'd begun to notice that he was adamant about that. Whatever he said, he meant. She just didn't think that would involve her too. Suddenly she felt guilty. She was asking for death of someone who required some sort of human sacrifice.  Too bad he can't have an endless supply of something  like that, similar to a river or a stream, despite how disgusting it sounded.

Suddenly an idea struck her. "My Lord, maybe I can assist you in that. My father has shown me that sometimes he has to make extra. He says that while , it has the components needed to sustain a person. Perhaps it can sustain you as well." Why hadn't she thought of that originally?

This seemed to have grabbed his attention as he turns to her, his brow raised as he opens his mouth. "How so?"

"Well, " she looks to the distance as he mind tries to cook up the recipe, "I'd need a base, of course, and a few other medications to help the blood behave like a humans. But all of my supplies are at my father's home. You'd have to fly me there to retrieve them."

A look of reluctance swims across his face, but he masks it with a hardened expression, his eyes turning into pools of black blood. He doesn't say anything, but Bulma uses the wheels of her brain to spin a theory. He has no more energy for a second flight. Not unless he eats.

Bulma can't seem to understand why she is starting to churn out solutions for him. Maybe it's Stockholms, and she's just being a fool. Or maybe it's because he could have killed her, but he doesn't do anything outside of a mere threat. Even when he carries her in flight, he's forcing himself to be gentle. But most importantly, Bulma realizes, it's because he's killing himself to honor her word. Even if he won't admit it.

Bulma swallows, feeling like more of a martyr than she's ever felt in these past months. She slowly undoes the button of her blouse, carefully wrapping her pendant underneath the high collar. His eyes are studying her, his lips slightly parted. He must realize her offer, she thinks, and it makes her fingers tremble. Another button, and then another, until the blouse falls to her shoulders, baring her slender neck that burns under the flame of the candle.

She tries to speak but her words jumble into tumbleweeds. Instead she moves the cement blocks that are feet towards him, mentally chastising herself every step.

He clenches his jaw as she stands right in front of him, extending the column of her neck. She can hear his chest rumble and his eyes narrow. Bulma suddenly feels like she's playing a very dangerous game.

"What the hell are you doing?" His voice is low and soft, and it makes her skin crawl with goosebumps.

She swallows and looks him squarely in the eyes before arching her head backwards to give him a clearer view. She squeezes her eyes shut and muster the courage to blurt out: "For you. To eat. I need the supplies to help you."

She is met with his silence for several minutes, making her wonder if he's heard her. She opens her mouth to repeat herself when suddenly her chin is forcibly pulled downward and she's staring him in the face again. Feeling his fingers on her chin makes her realize how dire he is in need of food. They seem so frail and colorless against her milky flesh, and she can't stop the twang of guilt that stabs her heart. Shouldn't she be happy, if the nightmare ends with his demise?

"Girl," he spits through his teeth, and she knows he is trying to reign in his anger, "You make a mockery of me using my vulnerability? You dare entice me with your death?"

"Y-You don't have to kill m-me, " she stammers, wondering if she made the right decision in offering herself for slaughter, "Just e-enough to give you energy. J-Just drink enough."

She watches his face explore her own, as if he's searching for truth in the lashes of her eyelids or the bow of her upper lip.  _There's no lie!_ She screams internally, but fear holds her words back completely. His eyes shine with curiosity, and he loosens the hold on her chin. He nods her head backwards to where it was before, and runs a finger down the length of her neck. The warmth of his finger on her sends tiny jolts through her skin, making her body flush with heat. She feels vulnerable. Naked. Almost as if he was going to swallow her whole and spit her out until she was nothing but bone.

"You realize that I may lose my resolve," she heads him gulp, hears the desperation under his words. His tone is seeping with hunger. "I haven't eaten in months."

She nods in his grasp, even though her stomach is churning in fear. "I… I believe you won't harm me." Rather she  _hopes_  he won't, but she will provide his courage if it means he will make this easier on himself and her.

He doesn't make any moves, and Bulma almost feels relief that maybe he won't, but just as quickly as the thought comes, she feels his hot breath on her neck, right above her heart beat. She goes frigid; her body suddenly alarmed and begging to be out of this situation, out of his embrace. His arm has curved around her waist and puller her closer, so that her breasts crush against his chest.

"You are a foolish woman," he whispers, his hot breath making her body electrify with heat, "Brave. But a fool." He doesn't give her time for a rebuttal before his fangs have pierced her skin and he starts to drink.

The pain, Bulma can't get around it. It becomes the only thing she can focus on as her body turns into jelly in his hold. She clutches onto the collar of his blouse to keep herself up, although it seems his strength is returning as he grips her tighter. Her head is spinning as he sucks at wound, each flick of his tongue increasing the tender pain. She wants to scream out, wants to thrash and push him away from her, but she's traced by the agony of his actions. She suggested this way after all.

She's blinded by how awful it feels, how her skin feels like it's burning with his lips. She's going to die if this continues, she muses, and it's only just begun. How much did he require?  _Would_  he stop? She balls the fabric of his collar in her hands, mentally begging for her anguish to diminish. She only has the resolve to speak one word: his name. "Vegeta…. " she whimpers, hoping he lets her free.

He doesn't, not yet anyways. He continues his drinking until Bulma's hand has gone limp and falls away from his blouse, finding solace on his shoulder instead. She can feel his muscles twitching to life again, and he's becoming the stocky beast that she first met under her fingers. Bulma closes her eyes and tries to succumb to the pain, but then he stops sucking and hovers his head over her entry wound, his breath tickling the punctures.

Bulma tries to catch her breath as she's met with fiery pain immediately. She didn't think it would worsen after he finished and yet it's almost unbearable. A tear rolls down her cheek and slides onto Vegeta's thumb, and she feels him lift his head to see her. He mumbles something incoherent, and she's just about to ask him to repeat himself when his mouth is back to her neck again, except this time he's not feeding.

His lips are soft, as if they were made of pillow feathers, and they gently move over her wound, providing her instant relief. It's like ice to a burn, the way his mouth remedies her pain. She feels her skin tighten, as if its hurriedly mending itself together under his lips, and soon Bulma is jolted by pleasure at his feather like kisses.

She's about to thank him, and even opens her mouth to do so, but her voice betrays her and lets out a whimper of a moan instead. Her cheeks heat up at embarrassment, suddenly becoming aware of how much she's enjoying him against her neck. He will stop soon, she realizes, once he's noticed she's patched up. She's flushed when she thinks of how much she doesn't want that to happen.

Lucky for her, he doesn't.

His arm grips her tighter as his tongue replaces his lips, and Bulma realizes that he's no longer trying to heal her. His tongue travels up the column of her neck, leaving traces of his kiss in various spots. Bulma gasps at how  _good_  it feels, how pleasurable one particular spot feels under his lips, how her skin sings praises of his mouth. His hand along her waist moves on her lower back, slowly up and down until he skims across her butt, pulling her impossibly close to him. Bulma feels as if she's on fire again, but in a way that she doesn't want to douse. Her hand rummage through the thick hairs on the nape of Vegeta's neck, pulling his face closer as he sucks away at her skin.

She doesn't remember the last time she's felt this much of a woman, but the ache in between her legs has started, and she can't seem to make it stop.

 _He's a monster,_ she thinks as she tries to reason with herself.  _He's slaughtered hundreds of my townspeople, and would still be doing so if I hadn't offered myself._

But he stopped.

_For you._

The thought is accompanied by another moan as his hand on her chin slides to her chest, cupping her breast through the loose fabric of her blouse. She never imagined that she would feel so aroused by the demon that Vegeta is, but she can't help but to melt under the heat of his tongue. "Vegeta," she sighs again.

This time she's instantly regretting saying his name, because that wakes him up from whatever trance he is under, and he pulls away from her immediately, as if she's an infection. His eyes are widened and his cheeks are tinted with a soft blush, and his face contort with humiliation as if he's just realized what he's done. She's noticed his face has rounded out, his skin filling in his cheeks while chiseling out his jaw. He's had enough of her blood, she realizes, which means his prolonged need for having his mouth to her neck was more out of pleasure than necessity.

Vegeta scowls at her, as if she is the reason for his act, as if she is solely responsible for the bulge coming from his pants. Bulma puts her hand to her chest, trying to stop her beating heart and the ache that tremors in between her thighs. She can't desire such a creature as Vegeta.

But she does.

He reaches out and grabs her none too polite, holding her awkwardly about the waist as he struts to the window and leaps out of it. Bulma feels crushed under his arm, the pleasurable feeling that she just experienced fading away.

"You will be quick about it," he threatens in a much more irritated tone than she is used to, "Or I will make you regret your leisure."

Bulma looks up at him and is about to curse him, when she's stopped by his cheeks that still are painted pink. Something about seeing him so flustered flatters her, as of he wanted to do that just as much as she wanted him to. She bites back her words and hangs on to his collar, letting him fly them back to her village in silence.

oooOooo

_Written for Smutfest Day One (soft blushes) hosted by The Prince and the Heiress community._


	2. Day #2: Heated Glances

Bloodlust Day#2: Heated Glances

_Live for me._

_I am your salvation._

oooOOOooo

Bulma is surprised to find that in the lower domains of the castle exists a pristine laboratory. She had expected Vegeta to give her some sort of abandoned room to work in; maybe an old bedroom or cellar filled to the brim in cobwebs, but instead she stands in a perfectly constructed room. There are enough candles in various sectors on the walls so that she doesn't have to strain her eyes to work, and while most of the equipment is outdated, there is an abundance of tools to aid her in getting the job done. Bulma feels a familiar dance in her chest that causes her to smile, as she drinks everything in. She hadn't thought that such an intricate laboratory existed outside of her fathers, yet whomever operated here was very passionate about experimenting and seeking out truths.

"Wow," she breathes, running her fingers over glass jars filled with a slim green liquid, "Absolutely amazing." The container houses some sort of specimen, a bird perhaps, with a peculiar head. Her curiosity gets the best of her and she turns to ask Vegeta about the findings, but he shuts the heavy wooden door and disappears behind it. Bulma frowns as she studies the place in which he just stood only moments prior. He hadn't looked her way since their incident the night before, only encountering her to fly her to her father's home and back. The sun was just beginning to say hello on their return, so she knows that he will sleep now after having properly shown her the lab. Bulma stretches her arms out as a yawn escapes her mouth, and she realizes that she should probably rest herself. Living with someone such as Vegeta means that she operates on his sleeping schedule, and her night has begun to start with the rising sun. But she's excited to work in a lab after months of having nothing to do, and she doesn't want to starve her need any longer. She digs through her sack of supplies and eagerly gets to work.

oooOOOooo

She can't believe she's flying.

All the times that Vegeta has picked her up and carried her across the forests must have paid off, because she can do it too now. It's liberating; the wind digging its fingers through her hair makes her feel invigorating. Alive. Bulma hadn't realized how dead she's felt all this time. All those months spent in that dark and dismal castle have left a bitter taste in her mouth, but now she's free. She could visit home again and have her mother's sweet cakes! Or go visit that nice boy in the next town over, the one who can barely talk to her without fumbling over his words. Whatever she decides to do, Bulma knows that the world is now in her grasp again. She'll go far enough that Vegeta will forget about their deal entirely.

Vegeta.

She frowns and slows her speed as his face pops into her mind. His obsidian eyes, the danger that sleeps in the deepest pit of his irises. The way that he stares at her when she's annoyed with him. And the part that makes her skin shudder the most: those two teeth on either side of his mouth that are sharper than any sword she's seen. She sees them whenever he opens his mouth wide enough, usually when he's upset the most. And usually when its at her. She runs hand down her neck where he punctured her. She feels a scar from the wound, but when she touches it her body explodes in pleasure. A heat began to brew in her belly as she reminisces how it felt to be in his embrace, how it felt to have his mouth on her skin. How she had wanted more from him. How she had wanted him to kiss her in more places than just her neck. How, in that moment, what he did and who he did it to didn't matter. How that made her just as much a monster as he.

Was he eating?

His promise. He had kept it and is suffering because of it. Because of her. But it's the right thing; too many of her people are being slaughtered by him and they don't deserve that. Not all of them, anyways. But how long did he plan on not eating for? He couldn't survive.

That's right.

She's supposed to be making him artificial blood. Enough that he'll never need to feed on a human again.

So what's she doing out here? Why is she flying around carelessly when Vegeta needs her? Is he worried? Does he know she's gone? Panic sets in her chest that she  _did_  leave without telling him. Will he be upset? Will he scream at her? Or worse…kill her? No, no he wasn't capable of that. She didn't think. He has moments where he shows her kindness, and he never treats her like his food. She's never gone without eating and her chamber is suitable enough. Oh what was she thinking? She has to get back! Where is the castle? Which way did she travel to get where she is now? How long is it going to take? Will he die by then? She doesn't think she wants that, even if it means she'll truly be free. Oh, Vegeta! I'm sorry, Vegeta! You may be a monster but you don't deserve to wither away and die! I'll come back, Vegeta!

Vegeta…

Bulma feels a heavy hand on her shoulder and she jolts upwards, her vision foggy and disoriented. She's confused as to why there are no trees, no purple skies with an orange setting sun, no clouds that she can slice through. No, instead there's benches and vials and medicine. She takes a deep breath as her rationality takes over. She'd been dreaming. She hadn't even realized she fell asleep, let alone slept until nightfall. She looks down to the bench in front of her, several vials filled with the artificial blood she successfully mixed. She turns over her shoulder to find Vegeta glaring down at her. She instantly freezes at his icy stare, feeling herself crumple like a withering rose bud in a winter storm.

He nods to the filled vials and Bulma clears her throat, running her fingers through her long hair.

"This batch should be good to go," she tears her gaze away from him, trying to catch the jittery breath in her throat, "It was easier than I thought once I broke down the compounds." She grabs the vial and holds it up closer for him, loosening the cap. "I'd even be inclined to say it tastes like the real thing, although I haven't personally researched that matter myself." She giggles and is surprised to hear him grunt lightly, as if he is amused by her casual humor. She wiggles it in her hand. "Care to try?"

He crinkles his nose and looks at the vial reluctantly, and then briefly to her. She sees the flash of hesitation swim across his face and she feels insulted. "Are you questioning my research? Do you not think I'm adequate or capable?"

He huffs and shakes his head with annoyance. "Would you be so quick to eat artificial meat? Or vegetables made in a lab?" It's the first thing he's said to her in hours, and it makes her chuckle at how disgusted he sounds by it. He's the pickiest beast she's come in contact with.

"I'm not saying it'll be perfect, but it's better than the alternative."

He slides his eyes to her slowly, a hypnotizing coolness glimmering in them. He's staring through her, as if he can see the depths of her soul that she has tucked away, and it makes a breath pause in her chest. "Is it?" He says deeply, threateningly. She can see the malice in the pits of his eyes, the hunger for chaos and destruction. She wonders how many of his victims saw it too before he swallowed them with his fire. She wonders if she will burn herself on his embers, being this close to him.

She nods her head, trying to maintain her ground. "You said your word is true. You've proven it by starving yourself. I can't imagine why you would make yourself suffer further when you don't have to."

She watches the resolve break on his face and he growls softly, his mouth opening just enough that she can see his sharp canines. Sometimes she wants to run her finger over them. He grabs the vial from her hand roughly, causing some of the blood to spill onto her fingers and palm. "Careful!" It has the same consistency as the real thing, the deep red color sliding down her skin as if she's cut herself. She brings her finger back, prepared to wipe it on a cloth. His hand reaches out for hers like a bolt of lightning, his touch sending jolts of electricity through her as soon as he circles her wrist. She locks her gaze on where their skin meets, how the color of his hand seems so distant compared to the vibrancy of her skin tone. It's as if the lines of his skin have been frozen, as if his flesh has been replaced with marble. It's beautiful, she decides, how he seems so abstract yet alive. Like a human painting fresh from the canvas. She swallows thickly and allows her stare to roll up to him, her body filling with heat.

His eyes are wild; widened to the point of craze, staring intently at her finger. Bulma is startled by how he's looking at her hand, like a wolf ready to descend on its prey. He slowly brings her hand close to his face, inspecting it with little restraint. Finally, slowly, he turns his attention to her face, gobbling her up with those unsettled eyes that makes her feel like lamb out for slaughter. "The smell," his mouth salivates, pooling in the corner to express his hunger, "It smells delicious. Smells so delicious, smells like a feast." He can barely form his words as he dives into his frenzy, and Bulma realizes he must be starving.

His gaze changes focus, as if he's determined. Bulma compares it to giving bread away to the less fortunate, and how their faces turn up knowing they will finally get a full belly. Vegeta studies her finger again, and she can tell by the way that he's holding her that he wants to bring it closer to him, closer to his mouth, close enough to taste. She can see the restraint in his perfect face. Why had she never noticed how perfect his face is? How his skin is like smooth glass? How….handsome he is? He's regal; a classic beauty that is not understood by anyone. Like fine art. The glow of the candles accentuates the sharp curves of his jaw, his chiseled nose, his shapely lips. Those same lips that had been on her only a moon prior. Bulma was frightened of him when she first saw him, from his bulky, powerful physique to his intricately upward hairdo. But now as she looks at him, all she can think of is how does someone like him  _exist_?

"Vegeta," she breathes out, feeling a magnetic pull between them too strong to fight, "You should….you should taste it. To see if it meets your standards."

He narrows his eyes slowly, as if every word she spoke had to dissolve into his brain, and carefully looked to her face. His eyes held a different meaning now, a dark want swimming over them. It made Bulma take a deep breath, the intense way he watched her. She felt as if she was being pulled into him, even though her body sat still on the stool. She has seen this look before. She saw it when she visited the old man by the river, and he invited her inside for tea. She saw it whenever she visited the market, and was offered jewelry and fine goods at unreasonable discounts. But she hadn't liked those. It was flattering, sure, but it wasn't a mutual feeling. And they certainly didn't make her feel like this, like she is nothing more than jelly, like she isn't made of bone. Like she has a pit of fire between her legs, like she  _needs_  to be touched by him. Like she needs to know what he wants from her, or with her. Like she wants to pluck the desire from his eyes and bathe in it.

What kind of hypnotism does this monst- does  _Vegeta_  have on her?

His heated glance continues to burn as he breathes life back into his hand, bringing it closer to his mouth. Bulma loses her breaths completely as she watches his lips part, her finger inching closer to him. His breath warms her finger, and she feels herself slowly coming apart, like a ribbon being slowly undone. The inside of her thighs itch with desire, and she wishes he would touch her again like he did the night before. Vegeta won't stop looking at her like this, not as her finger skims his lips, and not as he brings it inside of his mouth. She can feel his fangs graze her skin, and she's sure that even the light touch has given herself a cut, but the moment his lips close around her skin, she doesn't care. She gasps as the combination of his wet tongue and hot breath collide over finger, and she lifts her bottom off of the stool, instinctively drawing closer to him. She feels his tongue lick at her skin carefully, circling around gathering every drop of the blood. She clenches her dress with her free hand, wanting desperately to touch him. Why did she torture herself this way? This is the second time that she has suggested for him to put his mouth on her, and the second time she's wanted more.  _It's not enough_ , she screams inside, fighting herself from throwing her body on him.

Slowly, he releases her finger, the cruel air cooling her finger. He sucks the tip of it delicately before letting go completely, although his hand is still around her wrist, his eyes still bearing down into hers. Bulma doesn't realize she's breathing heavily, but soon it's all she can hear along with her frantic heartbeat. She can feel the moisture pooling between her legs, begging for Vegeta to take a swim between them. She has never so desperately wanted something, and she can feel her body ache and plead for him to take her and make her feel good. Make her feel whole. Make her feel.

"It is good," he says in a soft, calm voice as he drops her hand, "I expect that you will continue to make enough for meals?"

She nods, but barely. It's the only thing she can do. She sits back down in her seat and cradles her hand as if its broken, trying to steady her composure. He finally breaks eye contact with her and Bulma feels as if she's just woken from a dream. "Good," he says, and steps aside from her. She watches him wordlessly, watches him refrain from turning back to her, watches him open and close the wooden door and leave her alone. Alone with her thoughts, alone with her desperation, alone with her desire. Bulma looks down at her nestled hand and her extended finger, the skin still glistening from his mouth. He's licked it clean; not a single smear of red remains on her skin. She stares at it as if it doesn't belong to her, as if it isn't real, as if that didn't happen.

But it did happen.

And Bulma struggles with the thought of how she wants it to happen again. How she wants it to happen more.

And how she can make that happen.

oooOOOooo

_This was written for Day 2 of the Smutfest, hosted by The Prince and the Heiress community. Thank you to everyone for your lovely reviews!_


	3. Day 3: Just This Once

Bloodlust #3: Just This Once

_Breathe me._

_Inhale all of me until we share the same blood._

oooOOOooo

Bulma rarely touches herself.

It isn't as if she isn't enjoying the pleasures of her beauty; in fact, she can still remember the last quake of an orgasm from her former suitor. But rarely has Bulma met a man so beautiful, a man so entirely sinful to gaze upon, that it makes her want to immerse in a fantasy. She sometimes found it difficult to quiet her busy mind enough to find privacy for that sort of affair.

But now, she's met Vegeta.

So fresh out of a hot bath, her skin still soaked with the fragrance of lilac petals, she stretches across her bed and begins to explore. Begins to wonder what it would be like to have someone like him run his fingers down her nude body. How he would look at her as he kneaded her curves, traced the planes of her belly, discovered what lay underneath her blue tuft of hair. She mimics her wondering thoughts, her finger delicately pulling at her hair below. She breathes deeper as a fire begins to brew in her belly, and she swears that she can see him hovering over her, that same fire burning deeply in his eyes.

A small part of her feels guilty, as if there's no way she can let a monster such as he entice her so. Especially after having witnessed the aftermath of his murders, the devastation of his cruelty. And she still hates him. Hates that she has to remain here in order to ensure the safety of her people. The safety of herself. But she would be lying to herself if she says she wasn't attracted to his darkness. The danger he exudes excited her in a way she dare not speak about. He was quiet, and most of the time he merely watched her like a shadow. Like a predator.

It's his eyes, she realizes.

The second the epiphany strikes her, her finger brushes past her hair and slides over her swollen nub. A jolt seizes her body and she gasps, spreading her legs apart. She closes her eyes to see him watching her through the darkness, his lips parted enough so she can see the glimmer of his sharp teeth. That dark hunger he possesses. She feels like her skin is engulfing in flames, and she can't help but to dance in them. She embraces the fiery licks at her skin as she presses down harder on herself, a squeaky sigh escaping from her lips. He's gobbling her up with his eyes, demanding so much and so little from her at the same time. They're a burning red, and deep within them, Bulma can see a reflection of herself.

He's the devil.

Her fingers are growing more slippery.

 _Touch yourself for the beast_ , he says, the edges of his eyes growing black,  _That's what I am to you, right?_

She shakes her head, her breaths growing heavier, her body growing hotter. She reaches up to cup her breast, and the sensitivity of her nipple causes her to moan. Behind her eyes, Vegeta chuckles, his teeth glowing an impossible white. He leans over her body, his fingers barely touching her burning skin. He stares at her in a way that makes it foolish to look away, and the intensity behind him makes her juices begin to flow over her finger.

 _Why do you lie, girl?_  He leans in closer to her and she can feel his phantom breaths over her lip.  _Do_  y _ou wish it me to do this to you?_   _The reincarnation of Lucifer himself?_  His hand slides down her stomach, disappearing in between her thighs. She swears it true that she can feel the warmth of his hand over own. She gasps as if it were.

 _Such a provocative woman you are._ He laughs heartedly as his fingers graze over her own, sliding her hand downward.  _You are soaking with the fantasy of me. It smells sweeter than your blood._  He leans down close to her ear and whispers:  _But I know you can do better than that._

Bulma slides a finger into herself and arches her back against the bed. She wishes she could feel the authenticity of his breath on her neck, his lips brushing her collarbone. But for the moment it's enough to pretend he's doing so, that he's encouraging her to dip her finger in and out of herself. That he's suggesting she can do better still by adding another finger. Bulma cries out, lifting her bottom from the bed.

 _That's right, girl._  He licks at her neck and works her hand faster.  _The beast won't settle for mediocre._

Bulma's belly is on fire. The shadow behind her lids makes her feel as if she's floating away down a river of sin. How is it that Vegeta can make her feel so  _good_ , even when he's not really here. She wishes he was. Wishes that she could look at his delicately handsome face, his features frozen in time. Wishes that she could hear his deep, velvety voice, touch his solid arms. She wants so desperately to have him groan his satisfaction of her, plunge himself deeply in her and exhaust his fill of her. Breathe her.

_You want more than that, girl._

Bulma imagines that he sinks his teeth into her neck, and her body explodes in a shivery pleasure. The pressure of his teeth (or what she would like to this is) and the swift movements of her fingers are driving her mad. She grips the bedspread at her side and looks for her resolution. So close, so deliciously close.

Vegeta feeds on her and moves her hand faster still. He's moaning at her ear, nipping at her skin. She can almost feel her blood racing down the wound, but he's quick to lick it up. He moves his mouth back to her and begins to heal her, sucking at her skin feverishly as Bulma begins to clench around her fingers.

It's the equivalent to lightning, she decides, as her breath quickens and her moans fall from her lips. She feels possessed by him, as if she can't function properly unless she has him. As her pleasure builds and her arousal spills, she can't help but to douse herself with the overbearing need of him. She has to know if the hunger in his eyes is as delectable as she believes. If he wants her the same way she aches for, cums on her hand for, say his name at the peak of her orgasm for.

_I can do so much more._

She rides out her orgasm and doesn't see the end in sight. It's building, still building, still building…

_Come to me, then._

Bulma grips onto the last high of her pleasure, soaking the bed below until her bottom has grown wet.

_Just this once Come to me in the midnight hour. Let me do this to you._

Bulma floats back down to herself heavily, catching her breaths. She makes sense of her body and her surroundings before opening her eyes and bringing her fingers to her face. Even in the darkness, and with help of the moon, she can see they are sticky and dripping with her juices like honey. She stares at her hand as if she is amazed that she could bring herself such pleasure, even though she knows it's because of him. Even the  _thought_  of Vegeta is enough to make her fill with desire, but it's not enough to sate her appetite.

No, if anything, she's even more desperate to have him.

She's a mad woman, she's convinced.

Something moves out of the corner of her eye near her window. A shadow. She turns her head quickly to see, but she's met with the darkness of her room. Curiously, she gets up from her bed and walks to the window, looking down to see the empty courtyard below. It's her imagination, she tries to justify with herself, but then she sees it again, towards the edge of the courtyard. Again when she looks, she's met with the still of the night. Her heat stops momentarily as she realizes just what -or  _who_ \- could move so quickly, so silently. Someone who was a stealthy predator of the darkness.

The corners of her mouth slowly drag upwards and she turns to her chair to grab her robe and wrap it around herself. If he was willing to stay and watch her entire performance, than perhaps Bulma could suggest an encore.

Perhaps for the next show, he wouldn't mind being the main star.

oooOOOooo

_Thank you everyone for your kind feedback!_

_This was written for Day 3 of Smutfest, hosted by The Prince and The Heiress community._


	4. Day 4: Striptease

_**Bloodlust Day #4: Striptease** _

oooOOOooo

_But what of you, little one?_

_When you've had your fill of the night,_

_And long for the sweet release of day?_

oooOOOooo

Vegeta has grown accustomed to the darkness.

It's the only life he's known for almost seven decades. He remembers how, as a boy, he would thirst for the sun. Bathe in the purity of the light. As a man he would feel powerful to soak in the warmth of day, back when the night was a dance for the wicked. But he eventually learns that people are nothing more than puppets, and life is the devil pulling their strings.

He had been in the war. Had been proud to fight for his people as their prince. His family, his royal bloodline, was known to be highly skilled in battle. Never backing down from any threat, determined - and successful- at winning. Vegeta would look forward to those moments, his confidence in his strength unfaltering. Would dare anyone to stand against lands,  _his_  home, and they would pay for their ignorance with their lives. He would laugh at any enemy who used colorful language in a naïve attempt to gloat. It was all a game to him. A game that he always intended to win. He would always call checkmate.

He was a fool.

He led his people to some foreign village, one that he was warned several times on the roads to turn back from. They whispered things. Dark magic. Devils. Overwhelming evil. Vegeta merely scoffed at them and rode onwards, the victory point already in his pocket. When they'd arrived, they found no one. It was dark, darker than should be for an inhabited village, and Vegeta remembers the way his skin crawled with fear. It was in the air, stained on the trees, lodged in the blades of grass. Even his horse felt it, had tried to trod backwards and get out of there.

By the time Vegeta had regained control of his horse, his people were slaughtered. All of his best soldiers, faster than his brain could register. Remembers feeling hot with horror, unable to grip the situation. Remembers a white creature with an ugly face and sinister lips appearing in front of him. Remembers those vile purple lips purring, "Now  _you_  seem  _fascinating_ ," before it lunged for his neck. The pain that swallowed him was unbearable, and Vegeta knew that death was only a hand grab away. But death didn't come. Death wouldn't come.

Death would have been considered a luxury compared to having that  _thing_  show him a new life. Show him the life that he would have to live again and again and again. Made him turn on his people for food, made him hunt them like animals because he was just so  _hungry_. His father had been the hardest, but Vegeta was mad at the time, a newborn demon who had no control.

They screamed at the sight of him.

He relished in it, at first. The way his master showed him how to hunt became something  _invigorating_. He was good at it; a soldier fighting a different kind of war. The terror in their eyes when they realized  _what_  he was. A fraud. A nightmare cloaked with beauty. It became his favorite part, the phantom blood that made him think his heart  _actually_  beat. His master taught him how to survive in the night, how to rely on the quiet. How to use the quiet as a tool, a weapon. He taught him so well, in fact, that Vegeta eventually used it against him, slaughtering him when the hour was perfect. It was still a game. And now his victory was always secure, his strength superior to all. It made no sense to not enjoy the fruits of his nature.

And then, he saw her.

One look at her and he remembered how much he starved for the sun. How the color of her hair looks as if the sky kissed it to life. How her eyes, the shade of springtime blue, held no fear in them as she stood up to him. Asked him why he harms her people. No one ever asked him why, no one bothered to do anything but try to survive. She was…different. She reminded him of all the satisfactions he used to enjoy, ones that would burn his skin if he indulged in them. She even offered a deal, whatever it took to make him leave her people be. His stomach turned then, feeling the words form to life on his tongue before he could even think them.

"Pledge your life to me, girl."

He saw it then. It was quick, like a bolt of lightning flashing across her eyes. Fear. Uncertainty. Reluctance to what she couldn't understand. He gobbled it up greedily, presenting the information as if it was the only bargaining chip he would allow. She gathered a courage somewhere deep inside her and grit her teeth, defiant anger written on her face.

"Fine."

He didn't consider what he'd agreed to. Didn't think about what he'd be giving up, the consequences of cutting off his food supply. All he could think was how he needed to look at her for the remainder of his life and be reminded of what used to be. Remind him of what it was like to live in the sun. Even if she hated him. Even if she cursed him for the rest of her days.

He never stops watching her.

She thinks he does. She thinks that he can't stand the sight of her, thinks that he wants nothing to do with her. It's the opposite, a reason he is willing to starve for. But Vegeta knows battle and pain and suffering and power. Vegeta knows nothing about feelings. He knows nothing about curiosities and desires. He knows that his resolve around her is waning. He knows that since he's had her blood in his mouth, he thirsts for more. He knows that her skin tastes of life, a sore reminder to his living death.

It's in those moments it becomes too much. She smells too appealing. She looks at him with too much written under her stare. He may leave, but he never stops watching. He knows how to exist only in the shadows. He's mastered it. He stares at her for hours, sometimes, as she goes about her nightly routine. Sometimes he watches her as she strolls through the gardens under the moon, or as she falls asleep by the fire.

But last night was the first time Vegeta had seen her do  _that_.

He would leave her privacy when she would dress, and she was usually quick about it. But then she took her time, and when he turned to see why, he caught her pleasuring herself. Vegeta stood there frozen, watching the way she rubbed herself, the way she moaned. The way her hair spilled over her body, making her look like she was drowning in it. Vegeta felt parts of him stir to life that he hadn't thought of in ages. His surprise mixed with his need, and he couldn't help the urges slam against him. Her  _scent_. It was a sweet purity that made his breathing accelerate, a struggle to gather his sanity brewing.

And then she said his name. She whispered it, saying it so delicately like it would break in her mouth. Vegeta has not heard his name being used fondly before. He's heard it with respect, he's heard it with fear. He's heard it from women who were most likely faking their arousal, just to say they slept with the prince. But he's never heard it from quivering lips that were lost in self pleasures. He's never heard it from her.

For the first time in forever, Vegeta feels powerless.

He's a monster. He's not going to run from that. He's killed people for fun. For food. For the hunt. He's enjoyed being what he is. A beast of the night. If it wasn't for her, he still would be. But she has another way. Another way that isn't so revolting. A part of him hates himself for denying his nature for the benefit of a human. A  _girl_. A girl with no strength, no desire for the wicked, no evil in her bones. And yet Vegeta has been transfixed to her since the moment he laid eyes on her. She's a striptease to his desires. A striptease to his growing lust.

He wants her. He wants her more than he's wanting anything before.

He's accepted that he could burn once he drowns in her. But now he's unable to resist it. He wants her to say his name like that again. He wants to hear his name fall from her lips. He wants to taste her again. He wants to taste her and heal her and give her the pleasures of heaven and the sins of hell. He wants to exist between her legs and he wants her to breathe life back into him. He wants everything.

He does nothing.

He's watching her again. She's in the laboratory, working on batches of this artificial blood. It's late, for her anyways, and he's impressed at her resolve to function with little sleep. She seems distracted tonight, though, and he stares at her curiously as she looks off into the distance. Every now and then, she catches her breath and bites down on her finger. Her cheeks turn crimson as if she's embarrassed. Vegeta wonders if she's reliving her little escapade. He swallows hard as his brain replays him the act.

Bulma suddenly pushes herself away from the table she's working at. She stands there for a moment, her head turned slightly over her shoulder. And then, she speaks.

"I know you're here, my Lord."

Vegeta catches his breath, trying to wrap around what she's said. She spins around very slowly, dissecting each sector of the room with her eyes. Paying attention to the shadows. Inspecting them. She would have to do better than that.

"I've got a hunch," she places a finger under her chin, "That you're here today. And that you were here yesterday. And the day before that, and the day before that, and the day before that…" Her fingers trail up to the top of her nightdress, carefully sliding it past her shoulders. "It's just a hunch, but my father has always told me I've an accurate brain." Vegeta watches as she pulls the dress down further until he can see the swell of her breasts. He's seen her nude already, and yet he salivates with curiosity as she teases him.

Her skin is so pale. Like water infused with milk. He can perfectly trace the blue of the veins in her wrist. He runs his tongue over his canines, tasting the savor of her blood all over again.

"Vegeta," her voice is soft, saying his name with that same sort of care that startled him before, "There's no need to hide in the shadows. Please, come to me."

He wants to refuse. She's got no right calling him out like that, like she's mastered living in the night like he has. Like she understands his expertise. She can't even find him, and she's still looking in the wrong places. But the need….the need to taste her is overwhelming. The sensation to feel  _alive_ , even if it's only for a short time, eats at him until he finds himself descending in the sky. He approaches the window, standing outside of it with his arms folded. Will she even notice him? Can she prove to him that she's as keen as she says?

She turns to the window, as if on cue, her eyes resembling small lakes. They're wide with recognition, her lips parted softly. He stares at her hungrily, hungrier than any pain he felt while starving. She smirks at him, and for a moment Vegeta realizes she  _is_  wicked. She mouths something to him, a request of some sort. Come inside, perhaps. But he doesn't move. He finds his feet cemented in the air. She pouts, begs him again. Says his name like that again. Looks at him with eyes that make his belly hot. Makes him feel like he's made of fire and ready to burn her.

He remembers her answer to his compromise. Remembers how, against her fully understanding the situation, she gave him her reply. He feels like perhaps he'll take a page from her book, perhaps he's already allowed himself to sink in her waters. He moves closer to the window, barely touching the glass before the panes burst open. He mocks her agreement to their verbal contract then, a contract that started this in the first place. A contract she's sealed with her blood.

"Fine."

oooOOOooo

_This was written for Day 4 of Smutfest, hosted by The Prince and The Heiress community._


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